


Skin Lovers

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Body Horror, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Service Top Jaskier, Whipping, that fucking hot stoic shit from our boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22317877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Skin Lovers kill quick once they're inside you.Luckily Geralt knows a cure: scourging.Jaskier takes the birch, only really realising what he’s holding once he is holding it. “Oh,” he says, looking at it. “Oh no. No, I don’t. I don’t do that. I don’t know how.”“Nothing to know. Just hit me with that as hard as you can.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 477





	Skin Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> is this crack or is it just jaskier’s POV be like that. You tell me.

Jaskier wakes from a pleasant dream of tavern wenches to a thumping noise that sounds like someone repeatedly beating their arm against the trunk of a tree.

He goes to investigate and finds Geralt repeatedly beating his arm against the trunk of a tree. 

“So, er, what you doing there?” says Jaskier, approaching carefully. Geralt ignores him, but he’s beating his left forearm so hard against the tree that it’s covered in blood. The tree has taken some damage too.

Jaskier notices Geralt is sweating and slightly grey. 

“Could you stop doing that?” he says.

“No,” says Geralt, thumping his arm again. “Fuck.”

“In that case, I’m going to go back to that last village a get a healer because you have gone mad.”

“No. Stay there.” Geralt thumps his arm one more time and a dark green beetle, about four inches long falls _out_ of his arm and onto the ground.

“Oh. Woah. What is that?” 

“Skin lover.”

“Gross name.”

“Gross thing. Eats you from the inside.”

“Good job you got it out.” Jaskier looks at Geralt’s bloody arm and the blood smeared tree. “Are there any more?”

“That was the only one…” says Geralt.

“Lucky.”

“…in my arm.”

“Oh.” Jaskier blinks. “Wait. You mean…” Jaskier stops speaking because Geralt has already turned his back and is pulling off his shirt. “Oh,” says Jaskier again. On Geralt’s back are a dozen dark green blotches. They’re under his skin. And they’re _moving_.

Geralt looks over his shoulder at Jaskier and raises an eyebrow.

“So how do you get rid of the rest of them?”

“Scourging,” says Geralt, turning back around. He picks up a bundle of long birch twigs from the ground and hands it to Jaskier. As if it’s that simple.

Jaskier takes the birch, only really realising what he’s holding once he is holding it. “Oh,” he says, looking at it. “Oh no. No, I don’t. I don’t do that. I don’t know how.”

“Nothing to know. Just hit me with that as hard as you can.”

“Geralt, I can’t. I… No. Let’s go back to that village. Find a tavern. There might be a whore there who can even make it fun.”

“No time.” Geralt is fiddling with another tree. He’s already tied a rope to it. The loose end has a loop on it, a small noose. He slips it over his wrist. “Skin lovers’ll kill me in less than an hour unless you beat them out.”

“Oh. I see. And you’re tying yourself to a tree, why?”

“Two trees.” Geralt points to another, similarly sized tree about six feet from the one he’s tied his wrist to. It has another rope dangling from it. Geralt snaps his fingers and looks from Jaskier to the rope.

“Right.” Jaskier fetches the rope and brings it to Geralt, who slips the second noose over his other wrist. 

“Pull it tight,” Geralt says. “So I can’t slip it when you begin.” Jaskier adjusts the rope. “Now, tighten the ropes on the trees. Pull the loose ends. I need to be secure.”

Jaskier walks to each tree and pulls the rope, stretching Geralt out between the two trees. He’s still sweating and shirtless. His muscles glisten in the light through the tree canopy. Jaskier tries not to notice this. It’s not the time. Not during a medically sanctioned scourging, which is…? _What is his life?_

When he fails again at not staring at Geralt’s body, he tries to remind himself it’s full of beetles right now. 

Jaskier says, “And we are tying you to two trees, why?” Because Geralt might look amazing with his muscles under tension like this, but it can’t all be for Jaskier’s benefit

“When you begin scourging me, I may attack you unless I am restrained,” says Geralt, pulling carefully against the ropes, checking he can’t break free. His biceps flex in a terrible and distracting manner.

“And you couldn’t just, not attack me?”

“No. The skin lovers may take control of me. The longer they are inside me, the more they may effect my behaviour. They will try and save themselves.” Geralt’s words are lost in a long groan of pain as he succumbs to whatever the beetles are doing inside him. “You must hurry. Now. Beat me with all your strength.”

“Geralt…”

“Now,” Geralt says. Adding a “Please,” like the word annoys him.

Jaskier takes a step back, aims as best he can and hits Geralt’s back with the birch. Geralt grunts out, “Fuck.” Bits of birch twig fly off and a pattern of red lines rise on his skin, some a little bloody.

Geralt looks over his shoulder. “Harder,” he says. “Much harder.”

Jaskier winds his shoulder back and hits with more force. Much more. Enough that he gets a shout of pain from Geralt. This time blood flies into the air from his back.

Geralt breathes hard for a moment, then says, “Jaskier. That’s not… I need you to hit me as hard as you can. Repeatedly.”

“But won’t that, uh, really hurt?”

“Yes,” Geralt says.

Jaskier takes a deep breath and hits Geralt with the birch, using as much force as he can manage. 

Geralt swears and cries out in pain, blood and birch twigs fly in the air. And a green beetle drops from Geralt’s back.

“Yes,” yells Jaskier. “It worked.”

“Good,” Geralt pants. “Again.”

Jaskier hits Geralt four more times. He’s rewarded with four more beetles. Geralt’s panting hard, his back is covered in welts.

“Er, Geralt?” says Jaskier.

“Keep. Going.” Geralt pants out.

“Yes, I will but…”

Geralt looks over his shoulder. 

Jaskier holds up the birch. So much of it has broken on Geralt’s back it’s now just a small handful of twigs.

“Then get another,” Geralt grinds out. He directs Jaskier with a tilt of his head. There, a few feet away, a dozen more birch bundles wait in a pile. Geralt had prepared for Jaskier breaking the birch across his back. 

Breaking it multiple times.

It takes three more birches to get all the beetles out. By the time it’s done, Jaskier is sweating and Geralt is hanging limp and moaning in the ropes. The skin of his back all but gone.

Jaskier walks around to Geralt’s front. His chin is on his chest, his eyes are glassy. “Geralt,” he says softly. “You’re done. Shall I cut you down?

Geralt looks up. On a ragged breath he says, “Not done.”

“What? What now?”

“Take my breeches down.”

“Oh. Oh no.”

“Now Jaskier. Before they take my mind.”

Jaskier bends and unfastens Geralt’s breeches. They are tight and smell faintly of piss. They’re not exactly easy to get down, but he manages it, drawing them right to Geralt’s ankles. When that’s done he looks at Geralt’s erection.

“Is that,” he pauses to modulate his voice. “Is that from the skin lovers?”

Geralt shakes his head. “No. From the scourging. From training.”

“Why on earth were you trained to get a cock stand from being scourged.”

Geralt just looks at him.

“Oh.”

Jaskier walks back around the trees. There are five, maybe six, dark green shapes moving under the skin of Geralt’s arse and thighs. Jaskier beats him again, trying not to think about the fact Geralt is hard and probably getting harder from this. Indeed, the noises Geralt is making seem to no longer be unambiguous moans and shouts of pain, but sounds of pain mixed with arousal. When he hits the lower part of Geralt’s arse very hard, causing a fresh bloom of red welts there, Geralt moans out, “Fuck, Jaskier,” and it sounds like a love cry. 

When it is done Jaskier doesn’t know if he is relieved or disappointed. 

“Cut me down,” Geralt says, weakly, his voice a scrape from screaming.

Jaskier does so and helps Geralt onto the ground, naked, covered in welts and fresh blood on top of dried blood, breeches and boots still entangling his ankles. And incredibly, still hard. He’s panting. His right hand, still trailing ropes, moves to his dick. He fists himself.

Jaskier, crouching next to him, puts his own hand and over Geralt’s. “Let me,” he says, softly. “You’re in no state. Let me.”

“It’s fine, Jaskier. Fuck off,” Geralt snarls. And Jaskier moves in fast and doesn’t think and presses his lips to Geralt’s.

Jaskier kisses Geralt firmly, almost certain that, even in this state, Geralt could throw him off if he really wanted to. He kisses Geralt’s pressed closed mouth for a soft tick of a moment and then Geralt’s lips open and he groans as his tongue pushes into Jaskier’s mouth with a wild and desperate ferocity, a hand on the back of Jaskier’s head, pulling him closer, tighter.

Jaskier moans, his fist moving between their bodies working Geralt’s cock. He’s hard himself, but that’s not important. As Geralt fucks his tongue into Jaskier’s mouth, all he cares for is the release they are both chasing. Geralt’s release that comes quickly with a roar of relief.

Jaskier curls his body to Geralt’s and holds him, kisses the side of his face.

Geralt says, “I said, ‘fuck off’.”

**Author's Note:**

> https://mathildia.tumblr.com/


End file.
